Gilded Threnody
by Saerzion
Summary: Five years after the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, Craig Boone returns to the Mojave to accept the position of flag bearer at the Courier's funeral. As he reminisces about his limited time with the NCR hero, several undisclosed details of her life begin to surface… starting with the identity of the person set to receive her flag.
1. Chapter 1

**- I -**

The service uniform felt tight and stifling around his entire frame, serving as a nagging reminder of his longstanding distaste for military dress codes. The slight weight he'd put on in recent years only contributed to his physical discomfort, which the harsh afternoon sun exacerbated as the minutes passed in the open desert. Even so, he gritted his teeth and bore with it, for the ceremony required his concentration, and the procession had just begun.

He snapped to attention when the honor guard commander gave the order. Although he had never formally returned to the service, he fell back into the procedures with natural ease. As the saying went: _Once NCR, always NCR._

And for Craig Boone, old habits died hard.

His stomach tightened when it came time to lift the casket. In synchronized motion with the other honor guard members, he bent down and grasped the bottom, taking a second to glance at the inverted American flag draped over the surface. Its symbolism was a mere echo of what it used to be over two hundred years in the past, but in this case he understood its significance because he knew what it had meant to _her._

Boone swallowed when the honor guard hoisted the casket onto their shoulders, and he registered the weight of her body inside. It all still felt like a terrible delusion, a figment of his subconscious taunting him with yet another example of the unfairness of life. Clear as day, he recalled her radiant smile, the burning blue eyes that lit up the Mojave, and the searing force of her character in matters of justice and integrity. Even as he moved in formation toward the burial site, feeling her lifeless presence through the final wooden bed, he still struggled with the reality of her passing.

After all, she had survived certain death once; who would have believed she'd ever actually kick the bucket?

"'_Natural causes'? At age thirty-five? As far as bullshit goes, that takes the cake."_

He heard his own words from the previous day after he had arrived at Camp McCarran and received the bare details from Colonel James Hsu. All efforts to obtain further information and/or learn the truth from the rest of the NCR yielded no variations to the story. One day she had been fine, and the next her body had shut down. Boone told them even the most simpleminded idiot wouldn't have believed that, but not one soldier in the entire camp said anything more about it.

He felt the stares of the funeral attendees as the honor guard made the solemn march down through the center of the crowd. A few sobs reached his ears, but for the most part, the onlookers remained silent. He found the lack of mourning peculiar, especially for such a prominent figure like her. But then he remembered the setting outside Nellis Air Force Base, and he realized the Boomers had never completely forgiven her for leaving them, her tribe of origin, almost two decades ago.

The honor guard came to a halt beside the six-foot-deep rectangle in the ground before lowering the casket to rest temporarily at their feet. Boone averted his eyes from the hole, his fingernails digging into his palms as General Lee Oliver spoke a few words from the makeshift podium elevated nearby. The commanding officer's speech sounded rushed and lackluster, as if he sought to breeze through the inconvenient affair of the funeral. Boone tried to keep his glower discreet. In case the insufferable old ingrate had forgotten, he owed the NCR's victory at the Second Battle of Hoover Dam to the late Sergeant Callisto Forge.

At the honor guard commander's order to commence the folding of the flag, Boone took over to lead the ritual. Ex-NCR he may have been, but his bearing remained sharp as ever, and the permanent 1st Recon beret he wore demanded respect. Oliver droned on in the background as Boone drew all attention by marching with crisp movements to the head of the detail. Taking the edges of the flag, he nodded for the opposite honor guard member to hold the other end.

The folding entailed twelve folds, and Boone took his time as he considered the significance of each. Life, honor, allegiance, tribute, eternity. When attributed to her, he agreed with their definitions. His fingers memorized the material of the flag, handling it almost reverently beneath the blazing heat. Beads of sweat rolled down his back under his thick uniform jacket, but he maintained his somber composure as he swept a quick glimpse around.

Many unfamiliar faces comprised the majority of the crowd: Boomers, NCR soldiers, other citizens. The ones he did recognize stood grouped together across the way. A mild sense of nostalgia built under his sternum at the sight of Veronica, Cass, Raul, Lily, ED-E, and Rex. All together once again. It might have stemmed from the fact that they all shared history as companions, but to him they looked like the most sincere lot in attendance.

And then, through his sunglasses, his eyes clashed with Arcade's.

The doctor's neutral expression didn't change, but he inclined his head in the same manner he had earlier that day.

"_Well, I'll be damned," Arcade had exclaimed upon spotting him during the ceremony preparations. "Craig Boone, fresh out of California. And back in NCR colors, to boot."_

_Boone grunted and adjusted the tie squeezing his neck as he made his way over to his former comrade. "Gannon. Wasn't sure who I'd be seeing again when I decided to come back."_

_Arcade ran a hand through his wavy blond hair, the first tinges of gray catching the light at his temples. "All of us are here. The old crew. We didn't know if you'd show up or not, though."_

_Boone hesitated, his eyebrows drawing together. "Veronica sent me a message. She said Calli would have wanted me to be flag bearer at her funeral. I couldn't say no, but I didn't think NCR reservists usually had military funerals."_

"_You and Calli really never contacted each other over the past five years?" Arcade asked in astonishment. "She went active duty again after you left."_

_The knowledge took him aback. "Oh. I guess she figured her courier job turned out to be more dangerous than an army career after all."_

"_Well…" Arcade trailed off when several NCR officers walked by. "Anyway, I'm surprised you didn't stay in touch with her. I know she always kept her history and personal life on the down low, but it just seemed like there was something going on between you two."_

"_No. Not… really," Boone replied, the inflection of his voice growing harsh. "It… wouldn't have worked out."_

"_Hmm," the other man said dubiously. "I suppose Calli did carry around her secrets."_

"_Yeah. All those solo trips to Nellis and Camp Searchlight when we had a three-way war on our hands," Boone remarked, frowning at the memory of her impromptu disappearances. "I followed her once to Camp Searchlight. Hung back, wanted to make sure she was okay. It was dark, but through the haze I could make out that blonde pixie cut. Then what she did… it didn't make any sense."_

_Arcade blinked at him. "Dare I ask?"_

"_You know how that place is irradiated to hell and crawling with feral trooper ghouls? She just… watched them. Stood far enough so they didn't see her, and she spent an hour looking at them." Boone shook his head, still confused to this day. "I never brought it up. Probably should have."_

_The silence stretched on as Arcade seemingly mulled over the recount. He peered at the ground, the lines around his mouth deepening with some troubled emotion. And when he glanced back up at Boone, his dark gaze glinted from behind his spectacles._

"_I'm sure she had her reasons," he declared, and left it at that._

_For a moment, Boone wondered if Arcade knew something he didn't, but an announcement rang out over the area, informing them all that five minutes remained before the proceedings commenced. Boone looked behind him to where the honor guard had finished setting up around the casket. But before he went to join them, he turned back to Arcade._

"_Listen, none of these bastards are telling me shit about what really happened to her," he remarked in a low tone. "I'm not buying that story about how she just keeled over and died from outta nowhere. I want to know how it actually happened."_

_Arcade watched him, his features slowly closing off. "Sorry, but I don't have another version to give you." However, leaning closer, he added, "At least, not here. All I can say is, you'll start to see a bigger picture when you present the flag."_

Boone muttered a curse at the doctor's ambiguous statement. Leave it to Arcade to amp up the mystery. Still, at least now he had confirmation that something was indeed amiss about Calli's death. And he intended to find out why everyone refused to disclose the truth.

The folding process continued all the way to the twelfth and final fold. Boone studied the flag—now tucked into a triangular shape in his arms—and awaited the signal for the next part. Oliver's monotone drifted over them for several more minutes, listing off Calli's accomplishments during her alternating positions as an NCR ranger and reservist.

"Sergeant Forge served as the pivotal key that secured Hoover Dam for the NCR once and for all. She took up the mantle of duty even during her days in the reserves," Oliver proclaimed, reading straight from a page someone else had undoubtedly written for him. "There has been no finer servicemember in the New California Republic Army than this remarkable woman, who departed from this life far too soon…"

Boone endured the general's jaded recital and mentally elaborated on Calli's listed merits. For all her clandestine business, she had sported a very gung-ho and sometimes brash persona. He remembered how easy it had been to fall under her leadership, how quickly his purpose had changed from seeking revenge against the Legion to supporting her cause. She had always favored the offense, charging forward in everything she did and never looking back. He'd never met anyone else with such a zest for life. A certain light followed her wherever she went, one that had allowed him to see through his darkest days.

But behind her candor and energetic spirit, something well-guarded sat locked within her chest.

He thought again of that instance at Camp Searchlight, the way her face had reflected immense concentration as she gazed at the mindless creatures prowling the site. In that quiet hour, her demeanor had grown forlorn and almost wistful for reasons he couldn't begin to comprehend. It hadn't been his place to spy on her solitude, and so he had never initiated a confrontation. He regretted his silence, as the mystery would now remain forever unsolved.

His vision roved over her sealed casket, and he couldn't help wondering what other hidden secrets she was taking to the grave.

Finally, he received the signal for the presentation of the flag.

Boone tensed and prepared himself to come face-to-face with Calli's family. Boomers, most likely, although she had never mentioned her parents or any siblings. He pivoted in an about-face and squared his corners as he headed for the family seating area Hsu had pointed out to him that morning. A portion of the other attendees blocked his view on the way, and he made bets with himself about who would be there to receive her flag. Parents were his first guess. Perhaps grizzled old Boomers reluctantly acknowledging their daughter's deeds and service. Five years had passed since he'd last witnessed her sour relations with the tribe, and he couldn't see them reconciling completely in that span of time.

A telltale sign was the fact that they were burying her outside Nellis, her home, instead of in.

Oliver reached the closing of his obligated speech just as Boone rounded the last line of people and turned toward the family section.

He faltered, stopped dead in his tracks.

No parents. No siblings. Not even a significant other. Only one individual stood there. He possessed the same blond hair as Calli, the same crystal blue eyes. He had her nose, her mouth, and her chin, which trembled as he fought to hold in his grief. Even then, a tear escaped, and then another as he waited alone at the front of the vast, empty seating area.

A little boy—older than five, no more than ten—trying his hardest to put up a brave front.

Boone snapped out of his shock when the honor guard fired the three-volley salute. On stiff legs, he trudged rather than marched forward. This was nothing like he had expected. He found himself unable to break eye contact with the boy as a thousand thoughts swirled around his mind. From what he understood, the purpose of presenting the flag at a servicemember's funeral was to honor the fallen and give condolences to the family. Traditionally, the flag went to the next of kin, such as a spouse or a parent.

"_You'll start to see a bigger picture when you present the flag."_

Callisto Forge couldn't have left a more heartbreaking legacy.

This flag was going to her son.

x-x-x-x-x

**A/N: **As someone who has always been closely associated with the U.S. military, I wanted to write something that would reflect the more solemn aspect of service and the true meaning of Memorial Day. Applying it to the _Fallout_ universe presented a challenge, but I think I made it work. And astoundingly, my muse behaved enough for me to get through it. The world must be ending if that figurative pain in my ass developed a heart. Thanks for checking out this first part!


	2. Chapter 2

**- II -**

Boone glowered at every person who crossed his sight in the sparsely decorated B-29 hangar, which served as the reception hall. Boomer guards lined the perimeter out of habit, on constant patrol despite their improved relations with the outside factions. The volume of noise and chatter bordered on intolerable levels, and half the people in attendance were already well on their way to sordid intoxication.

He stood in a secluded corner of the hangar, unbuttoning the collar of his uniform shirt after discarding his tie. Simmering vexation deepened the crease between his eyebrows as he worked to formulate answers to his own questions. A reason had to exist for the NCR's silence, and for Arcade's cryptic warning regarding Calli's final days and family situation. He'd had enough of fumbling around in the dark, left to his own speculations after every blindsiding discovery. He required something concrete, something real, because he hated the madness of the interlocking puzzles.

But more than that, he hated the pain and burden reflected in the boy's face when he had kneeled down to give him the flag.

"_Thank you."_ It had been spoken in a hoarse whisper, echoing with suppressed fear and hopelessness. But then, when seemingly at his weakest, the words that followed demonstrated considerable strength. _"It's okay, Mister. Everything'll be all right. Don't be sad…"_

It had taken Boone several seconds to realize his own expression had mirrored the child's.

Empathy, kinship, understanding. Their hearts reverberated with similar losses, divergent in ways that still ached the same. Boone would have reached out in that moment of connection, if not for the fact that he had nothing of value to offer someone stronger than himself.

He surveyed the premises now, searching through the boisterous crowd. At the far end of the hangar, he spotted the other companions keeping mostly to themselves as they mourned Calli's passing in their own ways. Each had spoken to him after the ceremony, but he'd cut the reunions short, hardly in a social mood even though he did consider them the only people worth his time here. He moved on to Colonel Hsu, who had taken over for General Oliver upon the conclusion of the funeral rites. The NCR officers around him stood segregated from the rest of the rabble, looking more wary and suspicious than anything.

Boone narrowed his eyes, but before he could determine which soldier might crack the quickest under pressure, a movement in his peripheral vision distracted him.

A small form appeared from the rear entrance of the main floor. No one else paid the boy any attention as he peered around, his nose and cheeks still red with raw emotion. His funeral attire—consisting of black slacks, dirty shoes, and a white collared shirt—had picked up a thick layer of dust from outside. The folded flag sat wrinkled in his arms, and he clutched it to his chest when he strode toward an empty metal chair in the opposite corner, ducking his head along the way. He gave no indication of his feelings on the festivities, in which drunken people grew rowdier and more jubilant while he continued to grieve for his mother. With his back to the masses, he plopped down on the seat and proceeded to stare at the wall, seemingly shutting out the world.

Boone shifted in place, the restlessness growing in his limbs. After attempting to redirect his gaze elsewhere, he gave up and allowed it to wander back to the solitary figure across the room. Palpable melancholy cut through the surrounding merriment from that side, familiar in its intensity and weight. He understood the isolation, the sense of division between oneself and the outside. It seemed even more troubling in this case, where the jovial atmosphere turned a memorial reception into something of a mockery. And worst of all, the one suffering was the young son of the deceased.

He studied the boy, taking in the extent of his resemblance to Calli. Boone saw her in the way the kid moved his shoulders, hugged his knees, drummed his fingertips. Even after all these years, he still recognized her mannerisms, and the likeness drove home the reality that he would never see her again. Her time had gone.

Why?

Why, indeed. Boone could ask that of the supernatural powers-that-be, and no response would ever come across as sufficient. He swiped the back of his hand across his perspiring forehead as the tragedy of his own past flashed unbidden across his memory. He'd closed that case with one bullet, and while it still sometimes haunted him to this day, at least he'd had an answer. In this instance, however, he remained ignorant to the true circumstances, a fact he sought to remedy as soon as possible.

When he hesitated during another second of contemplation, his legs made up his mind for him.

He broke his inaction, moving forward and weaving around the clustered bodies in his path. No particular statement or opening line of conversation materialized in his brain as he made his way to the neglected child in the corner. Boone had never mastered words of comfort, never saw the point in their hollow nature. He still doubted he'd have anything riveting to say in light of the situation, no matter the affinity he shared with the boy. Even so, he felt compelled to head in that direction, if only to check on his well-being.

Familiar blue eyes glanced up at him when he came to an abrupt stop next to the chair. "Oh, hello. You're the flag man."

Boone removed his shades and slipped them into the pocket of his uniform trousers, frowning as he fumbled awkwardly for some sort of greeting. "…How're you holding up, kid?"

The boy rotated in his seat to fully face him, the flag still clamped in his tight grip. "I'm okay."

A subtle hint of optimism had surfaced in his features at Boone's acknowledgement. They regarded each other in silence as the background noise persisted, uncertain how to continue. Boone's minimal experience with children rendered him inept at these types of interactions, but he weathered on, refusing to abandon this kid.

After a few more strained moments, he asked, "What's your name?"

"Toby," came the meek reply. "What about you, Mister?"

Boone paused. "It's… Craig."

His own name felt foreign on his tongue, as this marked the first time in years he used it to introduce himself. As for speaking it, Calli had been the last. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he waited for the boy's reaction.

"Did you know my mom?" Toby inquired, sounding curious, but otherwise neutral.

Boone attempted to brush off the slight wave of disappointment that engulfed him. He berated himself for his own presumption, wondering what he had been expecting. Of course Calli wouldn't have mentioned him to her son.

"A little," he said gruffly. "I traveled with her until the last battle at Hoover Dam."

"Oh. With all of them?" Toby gestured to Veronica and the others conversing with each other several meters away.

Boone noted that, out of all the former companions, he was the only one Toby didn't know. "Yeah. We… worked well together. Your mom was a good leader."

The tentative brightness in Toby's expression dissipated at once. He appeared to swallow another wave of grief as he turned his head to the wall again. "I don't remember that time."

Boone watched the gloom spread through the boy, and he couldn't help the pity that welled up in response. "How old are you?"

Toby sniffled and wiped his nose, gaze flickering back to the man standing over him. "Eight this year."

_Three when Calli was the Courier,_ Boone thought grimly.

It explained part of her occasional disappearances. He remembered how guarded she became whenever she prepared to sneak off from the Lucky 38 suite without him or anyone else. If questioned, something fierce and almost hostile took over her demeanor. Like a savage animal. Or a worried mother.

If only he had known, he wouldn't have allowed the rift to develop between them.

He stared at the one she had protected and hidden throughout those days, knowing—in a limited capacity—the precious bond between a parent and a child. Toby's existence still had him reeling, but he understood the necessity of keeping him secret at the time. Calli's enemies stretched out across a significant portion of the Mojave, and the now-decimated Legion had posed a substantial threat. Boone could only guess at how she managed to evade their spies, although as the NCR's golden girl, no objective ever proved unattainable for her.

Toby fidgeted with a corner of the flag just as something occurred to Boone.

"Hey. You have relatives you can stay with?"

The fidgeting stopped as Toby's lashes lowered. "No. None. And the Boomers don't want me."

Boone frowned again, displeased at the confirmation to his hunch. "So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know."

_Not what I wanted to hear._

Boone's jaw tightened as he glared around the hangar, a rush of aggravation shooting through him at the clear lack of regard for Calli's son. No one else had bothered to approach Toby to learn this crucial detail. In fact, no one else even seemed to notice his presence. Once again, the thoughtless and disinterested attitudes of the guests baffled him. What had happened with Calli to earn this negligent treatment of her and her child?

"There's really no one else? Your whole family is gone?" Boone demanded, swinging his incensed look back to Toby.

The boy nearly withered beneath his angry countenance. "Well… my dad is still around. Kind of."

That fueled Boone's ire for more reasons than one. "Then where the hell is he?" _Where could this bastard possibly be when his son—_

"Camp Searchlight. He lives in Camp Searchlight."

The eerie words lodged into his skull. _Camp… Searchlight?_ "Can't be right," he muttered even as several more puzzle pieces began to click into place. "The only things living there are feral ghouls—"

Boone froze, every thought process immediately skidding to a halt.

Toby stared hard at the floor as his fingers curled into the material of the flag on his lap. The harsh verity hit Boone like a bludgeon, horrible and staggering in its impact. After a stunned minute of silence, he paced a few steps away, incredulous at the discovery. In the winding pathways of his mind, the dots connected and outlined a desolate picture of the Forge family, showing him just how unprepared he had been for confronting their enigmas. He'd believed he had kinship with this kid? At least his ghosts had passed on.

Toby's ghosts were only halfway dead.

"Hi, Toby," a voice greeted from the left. "Everything all right?"

Boone whirled on Arcade, who came to stand next to him, features grave. "What do you think? And I want to talk to you outside."

The doctor nodded in acquiescence and checked behind his shoulder. "Exactly why I came over. Let's hurry before anyone else takes notice. Lead the way, Boone."

"Boone?" Toby piped up, eyes widening.

Arcade gave him a small smile. "Didn't you know whom you were speaking to? Boone, Tobias Forge. Toby, this is Craig Boone, in the flesh."

The child directed a new look of awe toward him, blue irises flashing with understanding. "_Oh…_"

However, just as Boone opened his mouth to inquire about the significance of his surname, Arcade placed a hand between his shoulder blades and steered him over to the exit at the rear side of the hangar. They slipped out without incident, finding themselves back in the unfiltered, arid heat. Boone dug his shades out of his pocket and donned them as he waited for Arcade to shut the metal door. His blood stewed with such escalating disgruntlement that he had trouble choosing where to start, but as he neared the end of his patience, the seething interrogation unleashed on its own.

"Why didn't anyone mention she had a kid? How long have you known about this?"

Arcade adjusted his glasses, peering at the other man over the frames. "You were already long gone by the time I found out. She was very good about keeping his whereabouts hidden during the whole platinum chip and Hoover Dam fiasco."

"Yeah, no shit. Even I never had a clue, and I was—" Boone cut himself off, rubbing the back of his neck as he turned his face to the side.

"You know, she probably would have told you if it wasn't for what happened with your pregnant wife," Arcade surmised as he crossed his arms. "Calli might have withheld knowledge about her own child out of respect while you dealt with your issues."

It made sense, but did little to improve Boone's mood. He knew he hadn't been in the best state when Calli first found him, and it had taken a while for him to open up and confront his past. Yet, even after he recovered his sense of purpose under her influence, she still refrained from disclosing anything more of herself.

"So all those times she ran off without telling us where she was going…"

"Yup," Arcade verified, fiddling with the collar of his white lab coat. "Turns out she'd been using her reservist money to pay the Boomers for keeping Toby safe here while she went about her courier job. It was a smart arrangement. Those of us who knew about her Boomer roots also knew she wasn't on the best terms with them, so no one would have thought they were safeguarding her son."

"But now they're not."

Arcade shrugged helplessly. "She's gone, and so is her money. For this xenophobic and grudging tribe, that's the green light to cast him out. Although I'd be glad to take him in, I finally got the approval to start a chapter of the Followers on the east coast. I've been trying to find him a place to stay, but I'm supposed to leave in the morning, and it's a trip he can't take with me."

Boone scowled, motioning toward the hangar. "What about the others?"

"Similar situations. Besides ED-E and Rex, the only one staying is Lily, and none of them are preferred candidates for raising a child. Raul isn't relocating very far, but he… also isn't a good candidate."

Boone stiffened at that last part. "Because of the kid's dad?"

Arcade glanced at him in surprise. "Toby mentioned that?"

"He said his dad lives in Camp Searchlight. I can guess what that means."

The image of Calli's figure crouching on the outskirts of the irradiated settlement entered his mind's eye. It dawned on him as he recalled her fixation on the feral ghouls roaming around the area. He could only imagine the despair and anguish churning inside her that night, winding and constricting around her locked-up heart. The thought spurred a maelstrom of discombobulating sentiments beneath his sternum, and he tried to grasp every meaning they held in the context of this new revelation.

Arcade grimaced and stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Well, that ties in with the things you've been noticing since you got back. Everything that's seemed off."

Boone pinned him with a blistering glare. "Just tell me one thing. How did she really die?"

The black glint returned to the doctor's eyes. "Short version? From a lot of borderline illegal experiments."

It took a long while for that to register. And when it did, Boone didn't trust himself to speak. His aggressive expression intensified until Arcade took the hint to elaborate.

"Toby's father was also NCR, stationed at Camp Searchlight when the Legion sabotaged it. He's technically still alive, but you know… not a properly functioning individual anymore," Arcade explained wryly. "The incident was the reason why Calli went from active duty to the reserves in the first place. She was left raising a toddler by herself."

Boone's body went rigid as he struggled to come to terms with the hardships Calli had never shared with him. He had walked at her side for months, unaware of the sorrow that lay behind her genial smile. She hadn't relied on him. Not in that way. And, if he wanted to be honest with himself, it stung.

"While we were still chasing down the platinum chip, she caught wind of some new research project conducted by the Followers and funded by the NCR. I didn't know about it myself until she approached me and asked for my involvement. After Hoover Dam, I learned the nature of the project. I tried to dissuade her, but she'd already reenlisted in the service in order to participate as a subject." Arcade massaged his temples, as if the memory invoked a headache. "I should've tried harder to get her to drop it, but you know how she got when she was determined to accomplish something…"

"What was the project?" Boone demanded, his stomach already turning to lead.

"A cure for ghoulification," the doctor replied. "She wanted to find a way to reverse the process."

Boone pressed his lips into a straight line. _For…_

"For her husband," Arcade confirmed, seeming to read his mind. "An impossible feat, right? More advanced organizations than we have attempted and failed at this endeavor. It didn't matter to her. She was obsessed. The thing is, it hadn't been a priority until after you went scurrying off to California."

That froze him on the spot. "What do you mean?" he growled.

"I'm just someone on the outside looking in, but whatever happened between you two, your departure pretty much tipped the scale in her decision to proceed with the research," Arcade told him in an impassive tone. "I'm not saying you have any responsibility in it. That's just how it happened."

Boone studied the ground, his jaw twitching in agitation. "And the experiments killed her?"

"Yes. No one outside the Followers and the NCR is supposed to know about that research, and that's why most of the people here are tight-lipped about the circumstances of her death. The rest just became disillusioned with her over the years because she'd all but disappeared from the public eye. The project has been shut down now, at least, but at the cost of her life."

_Unbelievable. After everything, she just… it wasn't even… I couldn't've…_

Coherent thought escaped him.

"That's the truth you've been wanting, Boone," Arcade remarked, looking more drained than ever. "Hard to take in, isn't it?"

Boone had no answer to that. He swallowed a few times, trying to ease his parched throat. Finally, Arcade patted him on the shoulder and headed back to the entrance.

"Take your time. I'll be inside if you need me." At the door, he glanced back and sighed. "Sometimes, ignorance is bliss."

Once he disappeared into the hangar, Boone exhaled and gazed out at the dusk over the desert horizon. Ignorance was indeed bliss, but he'd never been one for delusional paradise, anyway. He could say he was angry at Calli, sad for her, confused by her… and missing her. The ringing sound of her laughter echoed distantly in his ears, and he wished he could have done something to keep it alive. She'd been taken too soon.

He was still in the midst of processing Arcade's severe account when the door to the entrance opened again.

"Um, Boone?"

He turned to find Toby approaching him, the flag tucked under one arm while the other held something behind his back.

"I didn't know your full name because my mom always just called you Boone," Toby stated, halting in front of him.

_So she _did_ mention me._ "What do you have there?"

The boy hesitated and then held out a folded letter. "She wanted me to give this to you if you showed up at the funeral."

Boone took the paper, his brow furrowing as he opened it and squinted at the scrawling cursive.

_Boone,_

_You know how the NCR makes us write these letters to our loved ones just in case. So I take it by now you know I'm dead. Hahaha…_

He was torn between glowering and snorting at her typical ill-timed sense of humor.

_And if you're reading this, thank you for coming back. I hope seeing my son wasn't too much of a shock, but if it was… er, sorry. I'd meant to tell you about him, but things just… got away from us._

_Look, this is going to be a rush job of a note. My vitals are dropping and I don't even know if I'll finish it, but I have to try. I hope Arcade told you about how I got to this point, but if not, let's just say that it turns out science really isn't my thing. Mix that fact with desperation and tunnel vision, and it became my undoing._

_I wish we had more time. I wish things had turned out differently. But here we are. Well, here you are. I'm probably getting dirt shoveled over me right about now, aren't I? By the way, are the Boomers at least burying me in sight of Nellis or am I resting in peace (pieces) in the middle of a nest of scavengers?_

_Anyway, I'm sorry we never had a real shot. We both had a lot on our plate. Even now, I'm very worried about where Toby is going to end up. That's my biggest regret. I did what I could to protect him, but in the end, I got selfish with my research. I fucked up. Please tell him I'm sorry. I love him so much._

_I fucked up with you, too. I could go on about all the things I wish I'd told you, but it doesn't matter anymore, does it? Well, even so, I figured I'd say them anyway._

_I_

He shut his eyes at the unfinished sentence, which trailed off in a jagged line on the page. She had collapsed while writing it. The hardened heart in his chest wrenched at the sight, but he contained his reaction, wordlessly tucking the letter into his pocket.

"What did it say?" Toby asked, peering up at him.

Boone remained silent for a minute, mulling over where to go from here. "She's sorry. And she loves you. Don't ever forget that."

The boy blinked back another wave of tears as he hugged the flag. "I won't."

Another stretch of quiet went by before Boone crouched down so they were at eye level. "You ever been to California?"

Toby shook his head. "No. But I hear it's nice."

Boone nodded toward the setting sun in the west. "If there's nothing left for you here, why not come with me?"

Toby gaped at him, and his entire frame suddenly perked up. "Really?"

"Yeah. Your mom was… someone special to me, and I can't just let her kid fend for himself," Boone declared. "I know I'm a stranger, but—"

"You're not," Toby interjected, now sounding enthusiastic. "Mom talked about you a lot. She said you were a good person. But that you snored."

Boone's eyes went heavenward as the barest trace of a grin stretched over his lips. "Sounds like something she'd say. So what do you think? Still interested in going?"

Toby smiled for the first time. "Yup, and I'm ready to leave now. This is all I need," he said, raising the flag.

"All right. We'll go grab my gear and head out, but it's a long walk. You sure you're up for it?"

The smirk Toby shot him was so reminiscent of Calli's that Boone almost lost his balance. "I'm Sergeant Forge's son. I can handle it."

_Fair enough_, Boone thought, rising and clapping the boy on the back as they began their trek. _Your kid will be all right, Calli. I'll do the best I can with him._

With the last rays of sunlight fading from the sky, a chapter closed while another opened. As he made a promise to bring Toby back for frequent visits to her grave, he thought he heard a faint melody in the gentle wind. Lacing around them in indistinct notes, it bid a solemn farewell to the Mojave Wasteland, to the former companions, and to the departed golden girl. Her body now rested, but her spirit lived on. As an enduring memory in those who remembered. A dauntless legend seared in history. A burning ember of duty and sacrifice.

A gilded threnody that spanned the distance.

x-x-x-x-x

**A/N:** And that's the end of it. This second part ran longer than I'd intended, but I wanted to include as many details of the late Courier as I could. Thanks for reading!


End file.
